Rescue
by Jessa4865
Summary: Reese comes to rescue Carter... or is it the other way around? Carter/Reese, rated for language,COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Rescue  
>Jezyk<br>Disclaimer: Not mine  
>Spoilers: Through Legacy.<p>

Part One

He was running as fast as he could and still, his legs weren't moving fast enough.

He wasn't a big fan of running and tried to avoid it whenever possible, but now it wasn't really a choice. Not with the way Finch was shouting at him to hurry in a worried voice he'd honestly never expected from his boss regarding Carter. Finch still hadn't forgiven her for nearly getting Reese shot and so for Finch to be worried, Reese knew something was very wrong.

And fuck if he hadn't been too fucking far away to get there soon enough.

When Finch's shouts died out, Reese wanted to panic, but he didn't have the luxury. He couldn't slow down to catch his breath or wait out the stitch in his side. He had to keep moving, running, trying to get to her faster than he possibly could. A fucking time machine was the only way he could get there soon enough.

"Finch, what's going on?" He needed more information; he needed to know it wasn't too late. Hell, it was already too late, but he needed to know Carter was still alive, at least. Otherwise, well, fuck, he'd just fucking die right there.

"I couldn't, I can't," his voice faltered and he took a long time to recover. "I had to turn it off. I couldn't listen to it."

Oh Finch was next on his list. No, listening in to what was happening wasn't the same as being there with her, as helping her, as stopping the attack, but it was something. Some kind of support, at least a witness to it. And fuck if Finch hadn't chickened out.

"I'm close, Finch, where is she?" Reese didn't have time to deal with Finch's panic either. Dealing with an emergency was all about priorities. Carter first, Finch later.

Reese cursed him silently in the delay that followed as the frightened man realized he needed to snap out of it.

"I'm trying to pinpoint her location."

"Why the hell didn't you already do that, Finch," he hissed through clenched teeth. If he was too late, if Carter was hurt, he'd kill Finch for delaying him. Fucking kill him. Then he'd kill himself. "Finch!" He couldn't help it. Hell, if Finch was terrified, Reese knew there was good reason to be upset.

"You're less than a block away. She's a little to the south of your position, at least, her phone is."

He scanned the area, spying a derelict warehouse that had to be the place. Normally he would have preferred to scope it out, peek through the broken windows and get the lay of the land before he marched in. Hell, he wasn't even armed. He hadn't been expecting Finch's frantic call that Carter was in trouble.

The scream, a terrified, helpless scream, destroyed any idea of being careful. He wasn't about to waste the time to check. He ran for the door. Fuck caution and safety and an exit strategy. He had to get to her. He had to help her. He thought of nothing else.

"Oh my god, John, was that her?"

Reese didn't even hear the man's voice. He tore through the door and into the dark building. There were shapes, dark ones that he couldn't count or make out as his eyes adjusted to the limited light that made its way through the windows. Finch had only known there were several voices and judging from the neighborhood, he'd surmised it was a gang that had grabbed her.

It only took a second for his sight to correct and the first thing he saw clearly was Carter. She was on the ground, fighting the man above her, the man who had a knife to her throat and was working the button of her pants. Her blouse was already torn open.

He saw red.

The group that had been standing around cheering and egging the assailant on moved toward Reese. Eight, maybe ten, he couldn't quite be sure. He just knew he felt bones breaking and blood smearing on his hands and cries of pain from bastards he wished he had the time to kill.

But his eyes were on Carter, on the bastard who didn't look up while he assumed his friends would take care of the intruder. Reese was blinded by fury, by pain, by pure rage, when he reached out. The man's neck was snapped before Reese even realized it. The only further attention Reese paid the dead man was to shove him off Carter.

She was crying, hyperventilating, sobbing, rolling onto her side and curling in on herself.

He squatted down near her, understanding that space was quite important for her at that moment, denying his urge to pull her into his arms. "Jos?" He waited for a response that didn't come. He shifted to the right, trying to catch her attention. "Jos, it's ok. You're safe now."

Slowly, she looked up at him, her tears flowing freely as her face crumbled, but it didn't seem like she even saw him.

It was breaking his heart to see her like that. "I'm here, Jos, it's ok."

Finally her eyes shifted, locking on his for a brief moment. "John?"

And then she sat up, pulling herself up by grabbing hold of his shirt, throwing herself into his chest, collapsing under the weight of her tears. He lost his balance, landing heavily on his knee, but not minding the pain as long as she was ok, physically at least. They could deal with the rest. His arms wrapped around her, cradling her close, an instinct to comfort her welling up in him that he'd never before experienced.

It was only then that Reese realized Finch was still on the line, shouting in his impotent way, begging for information.

"John, John, is she ok? Are you ok? What's going on?"

Reese let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Come pick us up, Finch."

"Should I call an ambulance?"

Reese's eyes fell on the unconscious bodies of the bastards that had tried to stop him from getting to Carter. He wasn't sure he hadn't killed them. "No, just come get us." He saw the glint of Carter's badge lying on the ground and a surge of hate ran through him. How dare they touch her. How dare they jump her like that. How dare those fuckers put their hands on her. He hoped they were all dead. Even though he'd been trying to behave since Carter had teamed up with them, he wasn't sure she'd argue under the circumstances. But he wasn't about to let go of her to finish the job, not while she was clinging to him.

"I'll send the car. It'll be there in five minutes."

"No, Finch," he bit off, pissed that he had to conduct business while Carter was falling apart. He needed to take care of her, not have a little chat with his boss. "You come pick us up. Don't you dare send some fucking driver."

"It'll take longer."

"Finch," he didn't need to say more; his threatening voice said it all.

Carter wouldn't want the prying eyes of some strange man from the car service seeing her. Reese knew that. He knew, despite their personality conflicts, Carter understood that Finch could be trusted somewhat, and as he watched her attempting to pull the ripped front of her shirt together, he knew Finch was about the only other person she wouldn't be threatened by. He shrugged off his jacket, pulling it around her, watching her gratefully fold herself in the fabric. She wasn't looking at him, instead staring off into space, a distraught, frightened look on her face.

He curled his arms back around her, tucking her close, dropping his face into her hair. "Everything's ok, Jos. You're ok." He waited for a nod or a mutter or even an argument, but he got nothing. She wasn't capable of responding and, while he wondered if maybe an ambulance would be a better call to make, he decided he'd keep talking to her. She'd seen him, said his name, turned to him for protection, so he hoped hearing his voice would provide her with some comfort.

"Finch is on his way. We'll get you out of here, get you home." He heard the quiver in his voice, the thick sound as he forced down a cry of pain at what she'd already had to endure. He hated that he wasn't able to be strong enough to keep it together when she needed him.

Finally, though, finally she heard his words, her head shaking against him. "No, no, I can't go home." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Taylor-"

Reese squeezed his eyes closed. Shit. Her son was at her apartment. Seeing his mother like this, being seen by her son in this condition, it wouldn't do either of them any good.

"Ok, we'll go somewhere else. Is Taylor ok alone for the night?" He glanced down at her face, willing to say anything to make her feel better. "I can have Finch pick him up and take him to your mom's if you want."

She shook her head, answering with a still weak voice. "He can stay at home. I'll just let him know I won't be there." She shifted in Reese's arms and he released her, expecting she wanted space, but she was only reaching for her pocket and left herself propped against his chest. "I don't have my phone. I think-" She briefly glanced at the men lying on the ground. "They took it. My gun and my-" she choked on the words, perhaps realizing how quickly they'd been able to strip away those things that she'd thought made her invincible, the things that made her strong.

"It's ok. We'll get them."

"But if someone finds out I was here, if these guys report-"

His hand smoothed along her hair, wishing he could see her face, pleased that the reason he couldn't was because she'd buried it back in his shirt. "What are they going to report? That they attacked a cop and got their asses kicked?" He didn't have the heart to tell her that at least one of them was dead by his hands. He didn't want to scare her, to remind her that he wasn't quite the knight in shining armor she probably thought he was at that moment. For now, it was for the best that she forget his faults and simply trust him. She only needed to know that he was her friend and he was there when she needed him.

And that he was trustworthy, as far as she was concerned. With the rest of the world, it was a crapshoot, but with Carter, it was different. He was different. Her good opinion was something worth behaving for.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

He left her there, tucked in his arms, until he heard the sound of Finch's car, then his boss' familiar uneven footsteps. "Jos, Finch is here. Think you can get up?"

She nodded, though she made no move to do so. "I have to find my gun."

Reese stood carefully and offered his hands to help her up. She immediately moved back against him, her fingers dropping his hands in favor of gripping his shirt instead. And though he was touched by the compliment, by the utter trust she was displaying, he knew Finch wouldn't appreciate finding the two of them locked in an embrace, even if said embrace was only due to Carter's fear.

"How about we get your stuff?" He was trying to be supportive, while at the same time maintaining some sort of dignity as Finch approached.

"Mr. Reese? Detective Carter?" Finch was evidently having a harder time adjusting to the low light than Reese had, for which Reese was quite thankful. It bought them a few more moments of privacy.

"Over here." He tried to step back, to allow a tiny bit of space between them, but she moved with him, never breaking contact. He was actually grateful for the minimal lighting, if only to spare him from having to see Finch's face when he looked at them.

Reese nodded toward where Carter's badge was lying on the ground. "Pick that up for me?" He knew he was the best choice to pat down the men and locate anything else that belonged to Carter, but he could hardly do that while she was clinging to him. He knew Finch wouldn't be happy about it, but there was no other choice.

Finch seemed rather perturbed by having to stoop down to grab the one item that wasn't concealed, but he did it without argument. "Are we ready?" He glanced around at the mayhem Reese had left in his wake, disgusted as always with violence, desperate to get away from the scene lest they be discovered.

"We need to find her weapon and her phone." He looked down, hoping that Carter might be able to give some indication of who had them, but her face was a blank stare once again. "Did they take both phones?" It would be no problem to replace the one he'd give her, but when police eventually found the crime scene, a disposable cellphone with Carter's prints on it was bound to raise suspicion.

Receiving no response from her, he looked back at Finch. "We'll have to search them all. Make sure nothing of hers is left."

Finch's lip curled in distaste. "Be my guest, Mr. Reese."

He cocked his head to the side and fixed his boss with a glare that warned off any further stall tactics. "I've got my hands full right now, Harold. Do you think you could help me out here?"

Snarl still in place, Finch moved closer to one of the men. "Are they all dead?" It wasn't obvious if he was checking to insure his own safety or if he was merely appalled.

"I don't know. Why don't you find out?"

"Never mind." Finch moved stiffly, awkwardly enough that Reese truly felt bad about making the injured man crouch down.

Within a few minutes, Finch had found seven cellphones and a dozen firearms. He looked up at Reese. "Do you know which are hers?"

He was able to identify them easily enough that Finch's curious, judgmental stare turned on him. Finch didn't like what he considered Reese's excessive concern for the detective, but Reese knew that had Finch paid enough attention to Carter, the whole nightmare could have been avoided. It wasn't the time to get into the discussion, however, so Reese grabbed the items and shoved them into his pockets.

He looked down, worried about Carter's silence. "Let's get out of here, Carter."

She didn't respond, not even to nod, or move away to allow him to walk.

Finch noticed her strange behavior finally. "I'm not sure we shouldn't call an ambulance, Mr. Reese. She might benefit from treatment in a hospital."

Reese's eyes moved to his boss. "Yeah, I know."

Carter's fingers clenched tighter, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt. "I don't want to go to the hospital." She looked up, pleading in her eyes as well as her voice. "Please, John, please."

"Ok." He nodded. Whatever she wanted. He wasn't about to deny her anything she asked, certainly not when she was looking at him like that.

Finch waited until they were settled in the car, he in the driver's seat, Reese in the back, Carter damn near on his lap. He angled the rear view mirror away so he wouldn't witness any of it and started heading uptown.

"Where to, Mr. Reese?" His irritated voice revealed that he much preferred being the passenger rather than the chauffeur.

"A hotel, someplace decent?" He hadn't thought of where to go, but he didn't feel bad since it hadn't been his idea.

"By my definition or yours?" Finch smirked, thinking of the fleabag hovels Reese would sleep in versus the four-star establishments he liked.

Reese grinned, appreciating that his boss was a bit of a snob. "How about somewhere without bedbugs?"

There was a smile in Finch's voice when he answered. "I'm sure the detective will appreciate your thoughtfulness."

Reese looked down, hoping for a sign that Carter heard them, but there was none. She was frozen still, holding his shirt in a death grip, leaning against his chest.

He'd feel bad dragging her into a hotel lobby in her condition. "Hey, Finch, how far did you pay in advance for that apartment you rented for me?"

"It was several months. I didn't realize you actually enjoyed having a bedbug infestation."

"I prefer neighbors who don't want to be friends, Finch."

"You prefer criminals as neighbors?"

Reese glared at the back of his boss' head. "I don't like people who ask too many questions, Finch."

Taking the hint, Finch lapsed into silence for several minutes, only speaking again when it was necessary. "So the apartment then?"

"Yeah." Reese turned his attention back to the woman in his arms, watching his hand as it automatically rubbed circles on her back, wondering when she'd grown to trust him so much, wishing he had occasion to touch her so intimately in a different situation. Shaking his head, he refused to think about it. It would be wrong to enjoy having her in his arms when she was so distraught, when she was hardly herself enough to even know what she was doing.

That she trusted him more than a gang of rapists wasn't really saying much about his character. It didn't count as a compliment in his book.

Perhaps the best part about the apartment, besides the lack of prying eyes, was that he'd left some clothes there. It would spare Carter the embarrassment of having to go home in her ripped shirt. The late hour also provided them the dignity of not bumping into anyone in the hall as the two men escorted Carter to the apartment. Finch walked in front, ready to run interference should anyone happen to appear. Reese stayed a few steps back, his arm protectively around Carter's shoulders, guiding her. She asked no questions, made no arguments, offered no resistance. She simply moved whenever Reese prompted her physically as his voiced suggestions continued to fall on deaf ears.

It scared him. He didn't dare say it in front of Finch, not with the way Finch had already mentioned his desire to take the woman to a hospital where he would bear no personal responsibility for her condition.

Finch turned around when they reached the door of the apartment, his face once again registering distaste at the sight of his two acquaintances so close to one another. "Do you have the keys, Mr. Reese?"

Reese just stared at him. He had enough trouble holding onto his fake IDs. It was another one of the reasons he preferred hotels. With his choice of career, things in his pockets tended to get lost. Or stolen. Rather than bothering to respond, Reese stepped forward and kicked the door. It gave immediately, prompting Carter to jump and Finch to frown.

Reese prodded Carter across the living room while Finch shoved a table behind the broken door to keep it closed. Reese looked down at her, wondering once again if Finch wasn't right about taking her to a hospital.

"Hey, Carter, we're here. Do you want to sit down?" He pushed her away a bit, trying to get her attention. "Carter!" He raised his voice to get through her fog.

She looked around the room, her eyes lighting on everything, seeing nothing. Slowly her head turned back to him, her eyes climbing up his chest until they met his stare. Confusion drew her face tight.

"Reese?" She looked around again, her assessment much quicker and infinitely more thorough. "What-where?"

He honestly wasn't sure whether to be happy that she was Carter again or worried that she didn't appear to realize what had just happened. He hesitated, as usual not knowing what to say when he couldn't say something flippant.

Understanding more from his silence than he would have expected, Carter's confusion quickly turned to concern. She looked down and, upon recognizing that she was wearing his blazer, she moved to take it off.

"Don't." Reese reached out to stop her. Not only did he suspect she didn't really want to reveal herself to both of them, but he didn't want to see the condition of her blouse again, didn't want to remember the situation in which he'd found her.

Her hand moved up, gently touching his cheek. "You're bleeding."

He nodded. "So are you."

She moved away to check her reflection in the mirror by the door, her hands smoothing over her hair. The coat fell open when she released it and she was suddenly reminded of the evening's events. Reese watched as she bit her lip and tried to fight back tears. She pulled the jacket closed again, her hands gripping it the way they'd previously gripped his shirt. Slowly, one of her hands loosened, moving to wipe at the blood by the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze stayed low as she turned away from her reflection, darting up toward Reese's, but not quite meeting his eyes. "Where are we?" Looking around again, more slowly, she glanced at Finch. "This your place?"

Finch shook his head. "It belongs to Mr. Reese, technically."

Reese shook his head as well. "It belongs to Mr. Hayes, technically."

Carter looked between the two. "Is Mr. Hayes dead?" Distracted for a moment from the situation at hand, her eyes darted up to Reese's. "Did you kill him?"

He held her eyes with a playful smirk, happy to see her personality emerging from the shell it had been hiding in since her attack. "We really need to discuss your lack of trust, Carter. It hurts my feelings."

The corner of her mouth curved up, but immediately fell again. "You didn't seem to worry about my opinion when you snapped that guy's neck earlier."

Reese's expression turned deadly serious, a hard, intense stare in his eyes that locked on hers. "He should have kept his hands to himself."

Anyone one else, any other woman, Reese might have paused to consider other ways of stopping the attack. But it hadn't been anyone else. It had been Carter and when he'd seen her like that, scared and helpless and unwillingly touched, no, there hadn't been any thought. There hadn't been anything besides pain and fear and the stir of something he'd thought was long dead in him. He protected people for a living, but Carter, damn, Carter was personal. He just couldn't dwell on that. Not then. Not with her standing there. Not ever. It wasn't a good idea.

She swallowed hard and returned his stare as long as she could, her somber face and wide eyes making it seem very much like she could read his thoughts. Maybe she could. Maybe she didn't have to. It was obvious that Reese was a man constantly under very tight control, always able to think quickly and rationally and make tough decisions without fear of choosing the wrong option. Though she'd been upset, she'd still been there. She'd still seen him lose that control. And now that she was able to process what had happened, now that she was safe, she was going to realize why he'd lost control the way he had.

Which was a problem.

Carter had balls. She'd call him on it. She'd demand to know just what the hell he was thinking. And he hadn't been thinking, that was the whole problem. He didn't want to have to explain that she destroyed his ability to shut off his emotions and operate robotically. He didn't want to tell her that she'd gotten under his skin from the very first time he'd seen her and that he hadn't been able to get her out of his head ever since.

Finch cleared his throat, pulling Reese's attention back to the fact that they were not alone. "Will you be requiring any more assistance tonight?"

Thankful for the change of subject, Reese glanced at Carter. "We're ok, right?"

Carter looked at Finch again, her dislike of the man obvious. "Yeah, we're good." She patted her pockets and came up empty. "I need to call my son. Do you know where my-"

Reese pulled her phone from his pocket and offered it to her.

She shook her head and retreated to the far side of the room to make her call while Reese moved the table holding the door shut long enough for Finch to slip through it.

Finch stopped after taking a few steps, turning back with an uncertain expression on his face. "Perhaps I should stay." He looked everywhere but at Reese, his cheeks coloring red. "To keep an eye on things, make sure nothing gets out of hand."

Reese wished he could pretend not to know what Finch was referencing, but he wasn't that skilled of an actor. Instead, he answered the insinuation the only way he could: with bold lack of modesty. "I'm sure Jos and I can handle anything that comes up."

Finch's eyes widened as his blush deepened to a shade of purple that Reese was certain was entirely unhealthy. It was a trick he'd learned long ago – when someone tried to embarrass him, he embarrassed them right back. Without another word, Finch scurried away and left Reese to smirk over his easy win.

When he turned back to Carter, however, the smirk faded. She'd returned to the mirror and was inspecting the mark left behind from the knife that had been held to her throat. She wiped at her lips too, grimacing when she touched the swollen corner of her mouth. There were tears forming in her eyes as she moved her hands down, pulling her blouse and Reese's jacket closed again.

Unable to watch her in such pain, unable to offer her comfort because he knew she wouldn't accept it this time, he gave her what he could. "There's a bathroom that way," he pointed to his left as he walked toward the bedroom. "And I'm sure there's something here you can put on."

By the time he returned with a sweatshirt in his hands, there was already steam coming out from under the bathroom door. He pretended he didn't hear her sobbing as he left the sweatshirt hanging from the doorknob and returned to the living room. He sat down on the couch, picked up the blazer she'd discarded there, and lifted it to his nose. Her perfume, her scent, lingered on it, teasing him with the memory of having her in his arms. It had hardly been under good circumstances, but still, he easily recalled the way she'd simply seemed to fit there. He hadn't been expecting that, even though he'd known that he'd been drawn to her from the start. He'd thought it would be awkward to hold her, to feel her against him; he'd assumed it was a mental attraction, that it was her ability to engage him that attracted him.

But no, now he'd had the chance to hold her, he knew it was more than just intellectual. There was a base physical attraction between them and, judging from the way she'd reached for him in her terror, an undeniable instinct to trust as well.

With all the ways they fit, he knew he was in trouble. A lot of trouble.

He'd never be able to resist it.

He shouldn't even try.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

He was tempted to knock on the door and ask if she was ok. She'd been in the bathroom for close to an hour and he wasn't sure she was ever coming out. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that she wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. He was worried, he cared about her, he wanted to help her, but they weren't friends. Not really. They had a tentative alliance, based on the idea that they both had the best intentions. He had to sit back and be available if she needed something, but not press, not try to insinuate himself where he wasn't wanted.

So instead of bothering her, he waited and finally heard the welcome quiet when she turned off the water. He listened as she opened the door a few minutes later and watched her pad into the living room while still trying to pull her hands through the sleeves of his shirt.

She motioned at the top and offered a quick smile. "Thanks for this."

"No problem."

No, loaning her a sweatshirt wasn't a problem. Not at all.

The problem was his body's traitorous reaction to seeing her in his clothes. He wanted to press her against the wall and peel that damn shirt right back off her.

He clenched his teeth and stared at the wall in front of him, letting his nails dig into his palms. The pain gave him something to concentrate on besides his suddenly raging desire which, at the moment, was beyond grossly inappropriate.

"Is something wrong?" Carter's voice was softer than it normally was when she spoke to him, but it didn't seem to be out of fear. She wasn't angry or irritated or exasperated with him for once. She was just sitting next to him on the couch and talking to him like they were normal people.

The thought brought a smile to his face as he glanced at her. "No, everything's fine."

She studied his face for a beat. "You looked angry, but-" she trailed off as she mirrored his smile.

With slightly better control over himself, he directed his attention away from what she was wearing. "So any ideas for dinner?"

Her smile faded. "I'm not really hungry."

"I'm hungry." He stood up, heading into the kitchen to grab the pile of menus Finch had brought him all those weeks ago. "And you need to eat something." Stack in hand, he returned to the couch and offered them to her. "Give me a hint here?"

She grimaced and looked away.

"Ok, pizza it is." He sat back down and grabbed the top menu. "What do you want on the pizza?"

She shook her head. "I'm still not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry, Carter, I asked what you wanted on the pizza."

There was a hint of a smirk on her face that she tried to hide by ducking down. "I don't want any pizza so I don't care what you get on it."

He groaned and started to dial the number. "Carter, just answer the fucking question."

"Nothing. I don't want anything."

"So plain?" He listened to the phone ringing.

"What the hell is your problem? Are you going to force feed me pizza?"

He grinned. "I might."

She folded her arms over her chest and turned her head stubbornly away.

Reese glared at her while the man on the other end of the phone ran through the list of specials. "Yeah, can I get a large pizza with-" He waited a beat.

"Pepperoni."

He was grinning so hard he could barely repeat her request to the man taking the order. He continued to smile after he hung up. "You know, Carter, you could save yourself a lot of trouble if you'd just stop arguing with me."

She was still fighting to hide her grin, but her eyes revealed her amusement anyway. "Oh, I should go along with whatever you say? No argument, no questions?"

"You can put up a fight if you want, but we both know you're going to give in eventually." His eyes turned deadly serious as he realized the double meaning of his own words. He hadn't meant it like that.

Or maybe he had.

Or maybe he simply hoped that was the case.

Carter's eye held his, her dark stare seeming to search his soul. Her eyebrow quirked up the slightest bit and he saw the moment she decided to play. One side of her mouth curved up, her eyes twinkling as they slowly lowered to rake over his body.

And then she spoke, her voice sultry and teasing. "Come on now, the fighting is half the fun."

Reese looked back at the wall and swallowed hard, wondering why he was having trouble breathing all of a sudden.

Then her laugh filled the air. He let her enjoy the victory in light of the evening she'd had, but he only needed to glance at her to assure her the war was not over.

#####

No sooner had Reese paid for the pizza than Carter had grabbed it from him and dropped it on the coffee table. She already had a slice in her hands by the time he sat back down.

He shook his head while he searched the couch cushions for the tv remote. "Not hungry my ass." He spotted the remote across the room on the floor under the entertainment center. Without bothering to wonder how it wound up there, he retrieved it and found Carter's eyes on him when he turned around.

She was grinning around her pizza.

"What?" He had the distinct impression that she was laughing at him, though he couldn't fathom why.

Swallowing her mouthful, she shrugged. "And what a fine ass it is."

Twice.

Twice in one fucking night, hell in an hour, the woman had rendered him speechless, embarrassed, and turned on. The CIA ought to hire her. She was a fucking weapon.

In keeping with his favorite method of problem solving, he eyed her with his most lecherous stare. "You would know, Jocelyn."

He wanted to enjoy his victory, but when she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, he realized he might have gone too far. She had been attacked. She could flirt all she wanted if it made her feel better and forget what had happened to her. He needed to remember that his flirting, though mostly innocent and accidental, might upset her more than usual.

The hard part would be realizing he was doing it. She brought it out in him, with her smiles, her banter, her receptiveness. Being around her made him want to play and tease and flirt, but it wasn't a conscious choice. He was different with her. He liked the way he felt when he was around her. It would be hard to resist even if he recognized what he was doing.

"You have anything to drink here?"

"I think there's some water in the kitchen." He went to look, talking on his way. "Haven't been here in a while." He returned with two bottles, offering her one.

"This isn't really your place, is it?" She was looking around again, eyeing the décor with a grimace.

"You don't like it?" He didn't particularly like it either, but paint color was hardly something he noticed.

"It doesn't really scream you." She glanced at him and then shook her head. "Maybe it does. How the hell would I know? Apartments don't wear suits."

"Finch bought it while we were working for a client in the building. It's not mine." He smiled, finding comfort in the idea that she knew him well enough to know he didn't live there, even if it was a pretty safe guess.

"A client, huh? You get paid for your services?"

"What would you call them?" He had her there. He'd had plenty of time to think about it and there really was no accurate way to describe the people who corresponded with the numbers.

Carter shifted in her seat to face him as she settled back comfortably. "You never did tell me where you find them. How do you get your information? Who gives it to you?"

He grinned at her questions, her natural curiosity making it sound like an interrogation. He'd experienced plenty of those and he'd never broken. "Finch gives it to me. Where he gets it," he motioned around to imply that he didn't know, but Carter didn't fall for his bull.

"Who are you protecting?" She leaned forward, her eyes intense on his. "You trust me, I know you do. So why won't you tell me?"

"I'm not protecting anyone." Though Finch talked about his machine like it was a person, Reese didn't see anything human about it, making his statement entirely true. He felt guilty withholding the truth about the numbers though. "It's a long story and not one you're likely to believe, so I'll just wind up with Finch pissed off and you thinking I'm a liar." He looked away, knowing he shouldn't have said that much and promptly realized that Carter's big brown eyes were a hell of a lot more effective for getting him to talk than all the electricity and waterboarding and beatings ever had been. No wonder she'd done well as an army interrogator. No wonder she did well as a cop.

"I'd rather you told me that space aliens were helping you than giving me nothing."

He felt the spark in him that he always felt when she argued, the familiar tingle that ran through his whole body, felt it like a fucking hit of heroin, it was that amazing, that addictive. He smiled. She was definitely his drug of choice. "I'm not lying to you, Carter, that's a compliment. Now stop-"

"Arguing with you? Not a chance in hell." Her smile was reflected in her eyes, but it didn't last long. "Lies of omission are still lies, not compliments."

He swallowed hard and met her eyes. "My whole life is a lie, Carter. It has been for a very long time." Reaching out without any conscious thought, his fingers traced along her chin. "Me not lying to you is one hell of a compliment, Jos."

Her hand moved up to cover his, squeezing it before she pulled it away. "Was I one of your clients?"

His hand was shaking as he pulled it back into his lap. Damn, he'd just told himself not to flirt with her, not right then, and then he'd gone and fucking touched her and she'd pushed him away. She'd rejected him. Fuck. It hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Luckily, he knew how to be professional; he knew how to tamp down his feelings, mental or physical, until he had time to get to them. Or just bury them deeper until he could pretend they weren't there. He pushed it away and got as close to meeting her eyes as he could bear at that moment. "You were once."

Her eyes searched his as she nodded, the wheels in her head processing the information, misreading it. "Thank you for being honest." She was hurt, the playful expression on her face she usually had when she talked to him disappearing. "I think I knew that. I mean, it's the only thing that makes sense."

And there was his hand, thinking on its own again, reaching out to brush along her cheek, pulling her eyes back to his. "No, you misunderstood me." He stared at her for a moment, trying to tell her things with his eyes that he couldn't even understand. "We found out you were in danger once and we helped you, but you knew I was helping you."

"When I was shot." She nodded while she thought aloud. "That's why you were everywhere that day. You were trying to protect me. You were working."

"I've helped plenty of people without them finding out." He dropped his hand from her cheek, moving it to grasp hers instead. "I wanted you to know it was me." It had been more than work, even Finch had known that, but Reese didn't know how to explain that to her. He couldn't just tell her. The words wouldn't come out. Words always failed him when he needed them; he'd always been better communicating physically, the one way he couldn't communicate with her right then.

"I've helped people I wish I hadn't too." He winced as he pulled his hand away, wanting to beat her to the punch. "You wouldn't have been in danger if I hadn't saved Elias."

Her mouth fell open in shock. The moment she recovered from it, she jumped to her feet, backing away until there was half a room between them. She didn't speak, though, simply shook her head back and forth, opening and closing her mouth as though there were no coherent thoughts for her to voice.

He stood too, taking a step before realizing that would only cause her to retreat faster. So he raised his hands in surrender to indicate he wasn't a threat. "No, Carter, wait. I didn't know who he was. I wouldn't have saved his fucking life if I'd known who he was."

"How could you not know? How did you help him without knowing who he was?" Her hand moved to her hip, looking for the weapon that wasn't there. Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out where it was. She dared to look away from him for milliseconds at a time, scanning the area, looking for her gun.

With a resigned sigh, he pulled it from his pocket, offering it to her, handle first. "Looking for this?"

Her eyes locked on it, her fear palpable. He could see her trying to figure out her options – choosing between the barricaded door and the armed threat before her.

"Carter, come on," he hardly recognized his own voice, choked with the pain of seeing her reluctant trust in him destroyed so quickly, so easily. "Jos, you know me better than that." He moved forward, slowly bending down to lay her gun on the coffee table, then backing away with his hands raised again.

She surged forward to snatch her gun and promptly aim it at him. "I don't know one fucking thing about you. I'd bet my life I don't even know your real name."

A painfully, utterly accurate idea struck him just then. Just because he trusted her, cared for her, didn't mean she felt the same. It felt like a physical blow. If she didn't trust him, if she changed her mind about working with him, he didn't know what he'd do. He could do his job without her, of course, he'd done it before, but he'd begun to count on working with her, talking to her, being near her. He didn't like the idea that he could lose her.

He wasn't sure he'd survive it. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Jos-"

"Don't call me that." Her gun didn't waver from his chest. "It's Detective, you son of a bitch." As convinced as she sounded, as steady as her voice was, her eyes seemed to be saying something else entirely. She still looked hurt, yet hopeful too, like she was waiting for him to explain it all away, like she was still giving him a chance.

It was all the chance he needed.

"Please, Carter, believe me, I didn't know who he was." He took a breath, trying to pick the right words in the right order to not blow his one opportunity. He knew he'd never get another one from her if he screwed it up. "I thought he was a witness, Carter, the same as you. I thought he'd witnessed a hit and the Russian mob was trying to kill him. He was a history teacher, did you know that? The bastard had been living in Brighton Beach and teaching for years and it took them that long to figure it out. I had no fucking idea who he was. You think I would have helped him if I had?" He took a breath, trying to figure out if her expression was softening or if he was seeing what he wanted to see. "Yes, it's my fault he was still alive to come after you, but I stopped him that night, Carter and I warned him off. He hasn't tried again, has he? You think one failed attempt was all he had in mind for you? He got the message not to fuck with you."

She bit her lip, the anger continuing to fade, yet the gun stayed steady on him. "I don't believe you. You told me yourself. Your whole life is a lie. You're a lie. How the hell am I supposed to trust you?"

"Because I didn't have to help you that night. Hell, at the time you were trying to arrest me, Carter, my life would have been a lot easier if I'd let him kill you." He tried a small step forward, lowering his hands slightly. "But I didn't. I protected you. I couldn't let anything happen to you, I needed to save you, Jos, god help me, I don't know why, but I knew I needed you."

He heard her gasp before he even realized what he'd said. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't even realized it. But fuck if it wasn't true.

He needed her.

There were tears in her eyes that she hadn't yet shed, but at least he was certain he wasn't imagining them. Her mouth was twisting too, as she tried to keep herself under control. "What about tonight," she forced out in a whisper.

"What about it?" His eyes burned into hers, needing her to know he hadn't had anything to do with what had happened to her. Just the suggestion felt like it was tearing him apart. He done plenty of despicable things he wished he hadn't, but he had never, would never, stoop to that level. "You can't think I was-"

She shook her head. "No, I know you weren't behind that, but-" she blinked rapidly as the tears finally started to fall.

He wanted to comfort her. He couldn't stand the sight of her in tears. He chanced another step and, when she lowered the gun to her side, he took it as an invitation. "Jos, can I-" But the words wouldn't come, no matter how much he wanted to hold her, to ask her permission to hold her, he couldn't do it. He couldn't put himself out there like that, open himself up to her so far, while she gave him nothing in return.

She dropped her gun on the seat of the chair, her shoulders falling along with her eyes. The tears ran down her face, but she didn't make a move to wipe them away. Her voice was soft and timid when she spoke. "Were you working tonight? Is that how you knew? Is that why you-" her words trailed off, her spirit seeming to deflate the rest of the way.

But she didn't need to continue. He heard her. He understood what she was asking.

And the fact that she cared why he'd been there revealed everything he needed to know. It wasn't about the fact that he'd saved her; it was about why he'd saved her. That was what mattered to her.

"No, Jos, I wasn't working tonight." He crossed the space between them, folding her into his arms once again. She went as willingly this time, curling her arms around his waist. He leaned down, brushing his lips across her hair. When she didn't pull away, he tightened his arms and pulled her harder into him.

She turned her head, pressing her face into his chest, squeezing him tightly. "I don't know why I'm such a mess tonight."

Confident that she wasn't trying to get away, that she was once again as comfortable in his embrace as he was in hers, he loosened his hold, allowing his hands to stroke her back. "Shhh, Jos, you were jumped by a gang and nearly raped. You're entitled to be a little upset."

"I don't understand this, John." She looked up at him, her eyes still red but no longer wet with tears. "But I'll take it."

He'd take anything she was willing to give, but he wasn't about to take advantage of the situation. She was too upset, under too much stress to make any decisions. Reese didn't want to let her say something she'd wish she hadn't later. It would kill him if she changed her mind about him, about them, about feeling something, but it would hurt more with every word he let her say. It was best to leave it where it was, mostly unspoken, at least for the meantime.

His hand smoothed over her hair, offering her reassurance as he started to pull away. "You need to get some rest, Carter." He glanced at the pizza they'd forgotten about. "You should finish dinner too."

Nodding, she released her hold on him and moved back toward the couch. She looked back at him and waved at the couch. "You need food too. You said you were hungry."

He joined her, this time sitting closer to her, but not too close, not touching. Turning on the tv, he grabbed a slice of pizza and tried to relax. It wasn't something he did often and usually not being busy made him a little antsy, but he was there with Carter, having dinner, having earned permission to touch her, at least on occasion when she was upset, and for the moment, everything was just fine. He wanted to enjoy the lull for once.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

For the first time in a long, long time, free time flew by. Instead of staring at his watch every few minutes and wondering if it had been enough time to check in with Finch again, hours passed without Reese even noticing. It felt like no time at all before he noticed Carter's yawning had stopped and the way her eyes had started spending more time closed than open. He hated to move. He hated to interrupt the peace.

He hated that he needed to do something that might draw attention to the fact that she was leaning on his shoulder in her exhaustion.

But it gave him an excuse to gently touch her leg as he tried to rouse her.

"Hey, Jos," he cocked his head so he could meet her eyes as she slowly opened them, wanting to see her expression when she woke up to his face.

She grinned slowly, proving to him that it truly was her instinct to trust him. "I fell asleep on you, didn't I?"

He grinned. "Literally."

She jerked upright, her cheeks reddening as she squeezed her eyes closed. "Sorry about that. Long day and all."

He left his hand where it was, gently resting on her leg just above the knee. "I really didn't mind." Reminding himself not to push his luck, he moved his hand and stood up. "You want the bed? I can take the couch." He was so damn content right then, he'd be happy to sleep standing up.

"No, I'm ok." She shook her head as she stretched out over the seat he'd just vacated.

"Really, Carter, it's ok. You can take the bed. I've never slept here, so it's clean, if that-"

"Oh, yeah, because you seem really filthy." She snickered as she curled her forearms around as a pillow. "I'm shorter. I fit better."

Still feeling guilty, he motioned at the door. "That's not locked. You should take the bed. It's safer."

She looked up at him, her eyes perfectly serious. "One more word out of you about it and we're sharing."

Oh, fuck. Talk about temptation. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that she wasn't in the proper state of mind to make decisions like that. Finally he nodded and stepped back. "Ok, well, I'm here if you need me."

Smiling again, even after her eyes had closed, she curled up on her side. "Night, John."

"Good night, Jos." He stayed there, staring at her, knowing he was only getting away with it because she was so tired. The only reason she was happy to sleep on the uncomfortable couch was because she was exhausted. Feeling guilty that he was getting the bed, he grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and draped it over her. It was the least he could do.

#####

It was hardly the first time it had happened to him. He'd seen so many horrible things, done so many horrible things, it was no wonder the experiences had to come out somewhere. He'd been trained to keep them out of his mind while he was conscious, but when he was asleep there was nothing he could do to keep them away.

He heard her screams first, trapped in the darkness, listening to Carter's terror, unable to do a damn thing about it. And then he saw her, that bastard on top of her, all of them on top of her. He was too late, they'd hurt her, they'd raped her, they'd killed her, left her lifeless eyes staring at him, accusing him of not saving her, of not being there in time. The same accusing stare he'd seen in Jessica's eyes every time he'd dreamt of her. He tried to look away, to block the sight from his mind, but all he saw were his hands, covered with blood, knowing somehow that he hadn't simply been too late, it had all been his fault.

He awoke with a choked shout, his breath coming in pants, his body shaking from the memory. Flipping the light on, he checked his hands, just to make sure there was no blood on them. It wasn't enough, though, not with the image of Carter's dead eyes in his head. He threw the covers back and headed for the door, but stopped halfway there. He should get dressed, he figured, just in case she was awake, because she probably wouldn't appreciate him sneaking up on her in his boxers after having just been attacked. But he decided against it. She was probably sound asleep and it would only take a moment and he needed to see her so badly right then that he didn't want to waste the time it would take to pull on his pants.

His bare feet were silent on the carpet as he made his way back to the living room. He held his breath as he peeked around the corner, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of her still curled under the blanket. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even, her hair falling over her cheek. He'd satisfied his need to check on her. She was fine. He'd been there in time. He should go back to bed, he knew it.

But he couldn't move. He might as well have been cemented to the floor. He stared at her face, thinking of all the playful smiles she shot his way, the way she'd cock her eyebrow when she thought it was bullshitting her, the way she'd purse her lips when she was trying not to laugh at one of his jokes. He wanted to feel her in his arms again. He wanted to be able to check on her every night. Every day too.

Drawing on all of his strength, he swore he was going to walk away.

And then her eyes opened and he was sunk. Caught staring at her while she was sleeping. Shit, she was going to think he was a creep.

Instead of anger, her eyes reflected her lazy smile. "Is it time to get up already?"

He shook his head, trying to swallow the frog in his throat, wondering why the sight of her stretching seemed to tax all his reserves of self-control. "No, I- uh," he stuttered, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks. "I just wanted to check if you were ok. Sorry for waking you."

Her eyes drifted down his body, taking in all that his regular suits hid, a slow smile of appreciation working its way across her face, her gaze darkening with desire. "Not a problem."

Well, ok, he felt a little better for lusting after her now that he knew she was doing the same.

He didn't say anything else as he turned and retreated to the bedroom. He was too tired to think about it. He was still too shaken from his nightmare. As he climbed back in bed, he assured himself that Carter was alive and healthy and more or less unscathed and so there was no need for anymore nightmares. In fact, the way she'd just looked at him might make him dream other, much more pleasant things.

Unfortunately his mind had other ideas and the moment he drifted from consciousness, he was back there again, hearing her screams. This time, she was calling for him, begging for him to save her. Rather than the previous dream, he wasn't able to get to her. Instead he was trapped in a dark room, unable to find a door, hearing Carter calling his name. He screamed back in frustration, trying to tell her he was there even if he couldn't help her. He screamed until he ran out of breath, then he screamed some more.

And then, somehow, she was there. Her arms were around him, her voice in his ear, feeling more real than any dream he'd ever had. She was ok, she promised, everything was fine. Oh how he wanted it to be true, to accept the comfort of her embrace, to feel the heat of her body against his. Hell, he'd been through it a million times, usually with Jessica, but more recently, Carter had been appearing, and though he knew she'd be cruelly ripped from his arms, he couldn't stop himself.

His hands moved up, his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth angling against hers as he kissed her. She didn't fight him, didn't resist as his tongue traced her lips. She opened her mouth to him and sighed as he deepened the kiss, her nails digging into his back.

And though he'd had the dream many times, he couldn't believe how overwhelming the sensations were. He wanted more. He needed more.

His mouth slipped down, leaving a trail of wet kisses across her throat. He tugged at her shirt as he tried to get more access, yanking at the collar with one hand while the other moved under it at her waist. That was when her hands moved from his back to his chest, pushing instead of pulling. He tried to wrap his head around it, reminded himself that he hadn't been the one who tried to hurt her. His lips moved back to hers, settling for her cheek when she turned her head away, moving toward her ear and nipping at her earlobe.

Her nails dug into his skin again, but she continued to push at him. His head was swimming. He felt intoxicated from touching her, like he couldn't control himself. He just wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her body against his. He wanted to feel her under him. He wanted to be inside her.

"John! Wait!" It was the fear in her voice that brought him out of the fog, reminding him that something always went very, very wrong in the dreams. No, he could never have her, Jessica either, something always changed and made him hate himself for wanting them. He curled his arms around her back, holding her against his chest, dreading the moment when he would lose her. She felt so real in his arms, so solid, so unlike the gossamer women in his dreams that would slip away before his eyes.

He turned his mouth against her ear, whispering to her. "I'm sorry, Jos, I'm so sorry."

She wasn't struggling any longer, in fact, her arms had slipped around him again, her face pressed into his neck. "For what?" One of her hands rubbed up and down his back. "It's just a little too fast. Not yet, not tonight, ok?"

Not yet. Not tonight. Well, that wasn't a no.

Fuck.

His eyes opened wide as the realization sunk in. He wasn't dreaming.

Oh fucking hell.

He'd been dreaming at some point, but no, he was wide the fuck awake now and he'd just tried to seduce Carter. As if he could ever save face from that, he'd picked the fucking night someone had tried to rape her. What the fuck was the matter with him?

And what the hell was she doing in the bedroom?

But… Not yet. Had she really said that? Was she really even willing to consider it? The words rolled around in his head, making no sense. It wasn't possible.

He'd just apologized to her, but that had been to the figment of his imagination in his dream, he'd been sorry for whatever horror he'd be responsible for happening to her in his dream. He squeezed her tighter, wishing there were some words that could explain how sorry he was. "Jos, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, her smile fading to concern. "Stop apologizing. I heard you the first time."

"But-"

She put a finger to his lips. "I said stop." Her eyes held his, assuring him of her conviction.

Reese wasn't one to leave well enough alone. "I don't even know what-"

"You were having a nightmare, screaming bloody murder back here. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops." Her hand moved to stroke his cheek. "I was going to let you sleep it off, figured you wouldn't want me involved, but then you were calling for me, so," she trailed off, having explained how she'd wound up in his bed in the first place.

"Carter, I thought I was dreaming. I never would have-"

She nodded, suddenly withdrawing her arms and trying to move away. "Yeah, I got it." She looked hurt.

He held her. "Wait. You didn't let me finish." She was misinterpreting his words again and he wasn't about to let her walk away when she might be hurting from something he hadn't meant. She stilled, her eyes locked on his chest, her face a forced blank. He cupped her cheek, lifting her face until she looked at him. "I never would have tried to get you in bed tonight, Jos, not after what happened to you. I need you to know that."

Searching his eyes for a long time, she finally nodded. "I believe you."

"I'm really sorry for my shitty timing."

She smiled, a laugh bubbling up and escaping. "Ok. I forgive you."

He smiled back. "I wasn't trying to get you in bed, but since you're here," he nodded at the pillows. "You want to stay?"

"You going to keep your hands to yourself?" It might have sounded like a threat if her hands hadn't been resting on his chest, her fingers lightly moving over his bare skin.

"Maybe you better go back to the couch."

"Maybe you better put your pants back on."

He stretched out, shifting himself over and holding the blanket up. "Coming?"

She followed his example and snuggled against his side, resting her arm over his stomach and her leg over his. "Good night, John."

Curling his arm around her shoulders, he smiled up at the ceiling. He wouldn't have expected it considering the way it had started out, but it had definitely been a good night. He'd thought he was rescuing her, but she'd rescued him too. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

~end~


End file.
